by Tom Clancy
In a storage room full of donated clothes, the two of them sorted and folded for an hour, sharing stories about their childhoods and their parents. Jack found that he did most of the talking, thanks to Aida’s endless questions; he was still careful to avoid divulging his father’s true identity.
“But American doctors make a lot of money, yes?”
“Compared to some other people, yes. But not millions. At least, not my mom.”
“And your father, the bureaucrat? People in government here steal so much money, and they get very rich, very fast.”
“Some of our politicians are crooked, too. It’s amazing how many ‘poor’ congressmen become millionaires while in public service,” Jack admitted. “But there are more honest people in government than not, and my dad is one of those.”
They folded the last shirts and Aida led them outside. Jack nodded at a group of kids kicking a soccer ball around, laughing and shouting.
“My company, Hendley Associates, has a charitable foundation. You should apply for one of their grants. This would fit in perfectly with Gerry’s vision.”
Aida’s eyebrows lifted. “The senator, yes?”
“Yeah. Now, that’s a rich guy. But he worked hard for it, and he came by it honestly after he left office.”
“You admire him.”
“Yes. He’s like a second father to me.”
As if on cue, Jack felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He was sure it was Gerry. He ignored it.
Aida smiled coyly. “Then I can count on you to put in a good word for us with your foundation?”
“Sure. Excuse me a minute.” Jack bolted off to the soccer game and jumped into the middle of it.
Aida saw Jack laughing and smiling as much as the kids. She decided to join the game, too, and a few minutes later, more kids came out to play.
Jack was a big hit. When lunchtime came around, the children begged him to sit with them, and of course he did. The rest of the day went the same way, with Jack helping teach an English-language class, and peeling potatoes back in the kitchen. Whatever needed to be done, he did it, working shoulder to shoulder with Aida.
It was a total contrast to his normal life, not that his life could be considered normal by any stretch. He was proud of what he did back home with The Campus and Hendley Associates.
But he had to admit he hadn’t been this happy in a long time.
* * *
—
They were back outside playing with the kids again when Aida checked her watch.
“There will be another bus arriving here any minute. We should greet it.”
“Let’s go.”
They left the kids and their teacher kicking a soccer ball around and headed for the front gate just as a gleaming black Audi A8 sedan pulled up to the front office. The driver’s door opened and a suited chauffeur leaped out, then opened the rear passenger door. Ambassador Topal unfolded himself from the sedan and stood.
“Ambassador, it’s so good to see you,” Aida said.
Topal smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling beneath his steel-rimmed glasses. He stretched out his hand. “My dear Aida, hard at work as usual, I see.” He glanced at Jack. “And I see you’ve recruited another volunteer.” He extended his hand to Jack. “Good to see you again, Mr. Ryan.”
“Please, Your Excellency. It’s just Jack.”
“What do you think of our little oasis?” Topal asked.
Aida explained, “The ambassador is the chairman of the Peace and Friendship Association. He has raised nearly all of the money from private contributions in Turkey for our facility.”
“It’s a wonderful place, and a very generous thing you are doing for these people.”
Jack saw over Topal’s shoulder that a giant Happy Times! tour bus was making a wide turn from the road toward the gate. Jack felt a tug on his shirtsleeve. An eight-year-old girl, dirty-blond and green-eyed, stared up at him, smiling.
“Please, Jack? Come play more?”
Jack shrugged and said to Topal, “I think I’m being drafted into service.”
“Then you should serve, as any good soldier does,” Topal said, smiling.
The little girl began pulling on his sleeve with both hands like a one-man tug-of-war, giggling hysterically.
He turned to Topal. “You want to join us?”
“I’m sorry, but my old knees won’t allow it.” He shook Jack’s hand again. “Enjoy your game. I still want you to come by my office sometime.”
“It might have to be the next trip. But thanks.”
Jack turned and sped away with the little girl, who shouted in Arabic to her cheering friends waiting for them on the field.
Topal watched Jack resume his play as the bus’s pneumatic brakes barked with a whoosh of air. He turned and whispered to Aida out of the side of his mouth.
“What is Jack Ryan doing here?”
“I told him to stay away.”
“And yet here he is.”
“He’s a good man. I’m not worried.”
“A good man? Yes, perhaps he is. Which surprises me. Your taste in men tends to run toward the opposite.” Topal removed his glasses and pulled a handkerchief from his suit pocket to clean them.
“My taste in men is no concern of yours.”
“Everything about you concerns me these days.”
The bus door finally opened, and the first refugee stepped out, a bearded twenty-five-year-old Tunisian male in jeans and a T-shirt. He shaded his eyes from the sun with one strong hand. He was followed by others just like him.
“This is not a good time for distractions.”
“I’ll do as I please,” she said. “And Jack pleases me.”
Topal finished wiping his glasses and put them back on, along with an affected smile.
“Let’s go greet our new friends, shall we?”
45
When Aida finished processing the new refugees, she stopped by the kitchen, where Jack was helping prepare the evening meal.
“Time to get you back to your place, Jack. I’m sure you need to get packed for your flight.”
“I don’t have much to pack. I’m happy to stay longer if there’s anything more I can do.”
“Actually, I need to get you home so I can get back to my office. I have more paperwork to do tonight. Taxes are due.”
Jack tried to hide his disappointment. “Okay, sure. Let’s go.”
* * *
—
Aida pulled up to the curb at Jack’s building just as the sun was beginning to set. The call to prayer echoed outside from the nearby mosque, beautiful and hypnotic, even muffled through the Volkswagen’s glass.
“You did wonderful work today, Jack. I really appreciate it.”
“I wish I could have done more for you.”
“Perhaps when you get back to the States, you could spread the word. We can always use more donations.”
“You should come back with me. You’d sell it better than I could.”
She set the parking brake. “Don’t tempt me.”
“I am tempting you. I could introduce you to some heavy hitters.”
“Heavy hitters?”
“Big-money people who love to donate to causes like this. I might even be able to convince my dad to look into some kind of federal money or something.”
“Your father must be a very important bureaucrat.”
“I’ll tell him that. Better yet, tell him yourself.”
“Someday, I would like to visit your country. But now is not the time.”
Jack heard the finality in her voice. He didn’t want the day to end. “Man, I’m hungry. How about dinner?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t. I really do have a mountain of paperwork tonight, and tomorrow I’m leaving for Dubrovnik.”
“I’
ve heard it’s a beautiful city.”
“You have never been there?”
“No. But I’d like to someday.”
“Too bad you’re flying home tomorrow.” She lowered her eyes. “If you were staying longer, I would take you there, and on the way show you more of my beautiful country.”
Jack’s heart raced. Music to his ears. But he had checked his cell phone earlier in the day. Three texts from Gerry, all with the same message: “Call me.” It was time to get home and get back to work.
Right?
“Why are you going to Dubrovnik?”
“I need to pick up some things for the medical clinic. I can make the drive in a day, but if you came, we’d do it in two days like on one of my tours, so I can show you some amazing things that you may never see again.”
“I can change my plans.”
Aida brightened. “So you’ll come?”
“It’s for the refugees, right? How can I say no?”
* * *
—
While Jack was packing his underwear for the trip, Aida was in her office working on her books when Emir stormed in.
“You’re taking him to Dubrovnik?”
“Sure. Why not? He’s never been there.”
“Is that . . . wise?”
“I have to make the pickup anyway. Now I’ll have company.”
“I don’t like it.” Emir’s sulking face betrayed him.
Of course you don’t, my sweet cousin, Aida thought. “It’s only a courtesy. His mother is a surgeon. This is an easy way to repay her kindness to me.”
She pitied Emir, and he knew it. That made him feel even worse.
Emir’s face hardened. “It’s shameful.”
“Stop being so old-fashioned. We’ll be in separate hotel rooms. It’s only a kindness. I’m taking him on the same boring tour stops we’ve both done a thousand times.”
“It doesn’t look right.”
“What do I care what it looks like? I do as I please.”
“How do you know he’s not a spy?”
Aida laughed. “A spy? Why? Because he’s an American? Yes, I see it now. He’s a CIA assassin!” She laughed again.
“Do not mock me, woman.”
Aida recoiled inwardly at Emir’s tone of voice. She’d never heard it from him before. Normally, she wouldn’t take that from anybody, but his ego was wounded, and she cared for him, though not in the way he had hoped for since they were children. She never felt guilty about that. In fact, she used it to her advantage. She decided to forgive him the insult this one time.
She pointed at the QuickBooks screen on her computer. “Do you see that? That’s what Jack does all day. He’s a financial analyst—a numbers cruncher. He’s no spy. Believe me, I’d know.”
“It’s too risky, even if he isn’t a spy.”
“This life we live is full of risk. This is a small one, at most. And Jack may help raise money for the refugee center.” She smiled at the irony.
“Then I will go with you. You need protection.”
“That isn’t necessary. You have responsibilities here. We’ll be fine.”
“I insist.”
Aida stood. “You’re being a fool. It’s you who should be ashamed.”
Emir’s hands trembled slightly, but he didn’t speak. A moment passed, and he willed his body to relax.
She yanked open a drawer and pulled out a bottle of The Macallan single-malt whiskey along with two glasses.
“Have a drink with me, like we used to do, back in the old days.” She coaxed him with a teasing smile. “Before you got religion.”
“Be careful with that man,” was all he said before he turned and headed for the door.
“Emir—”
The door slammed shut behind him.
Not good, Aida thought. But he’ll get over it.
46
Jack and Aida left early the next morning in the Happy Times! Volkswagen tour van. The traffic in Sarajevo was heavy but cleared up as soon as they passed the city limits heading west.
Jack wore a pair of jeans and a Polo shirt. Aida was equally casual in form-fitting Lululemon yoga pants, FK Sarajevo soccer jersey, and Ray-Ban aviators. Jack watched strands of her thick hair dancing in the air of the open driver’s window.
Stunning.
They drove southeast about thirty miles through forested mountains to their first destination. According to the dashboard GPS display, they were coming into a little town named Konjic.
“Do all of your vehicles use GPS?” Jack asked.
“None of our drivers need it for directions, but it’s a great way for Emir to keep track of vehicle locations, distances traveled, gas mileage, and that sort of thing.”
Aida parallel-parked on the main drag, directly in front of a magnificent stone bridge spanning the wide Neretva River. She yanked on the parking brake and smiled. “Let’s check it out.”
She led him to the center of the bridge and a commemorative plaque above the central pylon, written in Turkish and Bosnian. Jack deciphered enough to figure out that the bridge was built during the reign of the Ottoman Sultan Mehmet IV in 1682. Aida filled in the rest of the details.
“Illyrian tribes first settled here two thousand years ago, but others may have been here much earlier. The Old Stone Bridge was destroyed by retreating German forces in 1945, but it was finally rebuilt in 2009 by Turkish engineers using the exact same seventeenth-century building techniques and materials.”
“I’m betting the Turks don’t rebuild Hapsburg monuments,” Jack said. Smart advertising on their part. A great way to display their generosity and promote their cultural hegemony all at the same time.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
Jack took in the picture-postcard view, a real Rick Steves moment. They could just stop here and be done, as far as he was concerned.
Aida took his hand. “Let’s keep going. There’s so much more to see.”
Their next stop was Tito’s Bunker, a surrealistic trip back into the Cold War. The nuclear bomb shelter was secretly built by the communist dictator for himself and three hundred handpicked companions to survive a nuclear strike and live another six months.
The people who ran the bunker now got the bright idea to not only preserve as much of the original furnishings and equipment as possible, but also to stage it with modern art exhibits throughout its many rooms, since the bunker itself was a strange kind of Brutalist art form.
After touring the bunker, they drove about seventeen miles to the next town, Jablanica, which also bridged the Neretva River. About half of the drive was along the wide Jablanica Lake. Their destination was a large city park and museum, commemorating a famous victory by the Yugoslavian Partisan forces against the Nazis in World War II. A blown railway bridge, half collapsed into the river, was still in place.
“This is actually a bridge built and destroyed for a Yugoslavian war movie. But it looked so good and so real, the Tito government decided to leave it.”
They jumped back into the van, the road generally following the track of the wide and winding Neretva River through tree-covered mountains. The sky was crystal-blue, warmed by a pleasant, late-morning sun.
The farther they drove, the more Jack fell in love with the people and the scenery, which at times was quite dramatic. It was another reminder to him how big the world was and how many fascinating places there were that he had yet to discover. A hundred generations of people he had never really thought about had lived in this magnificent country. Too many of them had died in the wars that plagued the area since the time of the Caesars.
But for all of the interest he was taking in the tour, he was mostly curious about the woman driving the tour van. She fielded every question he had about geography and culture and local delicacies. And while she was amazingly well versed in the history
of the Ottoman sultans and the Hapsburg emperors, she remained politely evasive when he probed about her own personal history, which made her all the more intriguing. Still, he kept trying.
“So, you’ve never been married?” Jack’s feet were up on the dashboard while Aida drove on the curving two-lane.
“No,” she said with a smile.
“Why not?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing, Jack.”
“I want to get married someday. Just need to find the right woman who has the time for a relationship.”
“Do you have the time for one?”
“Ouch. I guess I’m kinda busy these days.”
“And yet here you are, in the middle of Bosnia. Not so bad, is it?”
“Not bad at all.”
“I’m curious. Tell me about this ‘right woman’ of yours.”
Jack sat up. This is getting interesting.
“Smart is the most important attribute, after character. Beautiful is nice, but that comes from within. And, let’s see. How about transparent?”
“Transparent? That’s terrible!” she joked.
“Why?”
“A girl likes to keep a little bit of mystery about her. Don’t men find that more interesting?”
“Depends on what the mystery is, I guess. What about you? Who is your Mr. Right?”
“That’s easy. A man who loves his family. An honorable man. A man who works hard and provides for the ones he loves.” She shot him a glance. “And a man who doesn’t ask too many questions.”
“Well, I guess that takes me out of the running, especially since I have one more. Do you want kids?”
“As many as possible.”
“Me, too. Or four, whichever is less.”
She laughed. “You have brothers and sisters?”
“Two sisters and a brother. The older sister is a neurosurgeon and a brainiac like my mom.”
“And your father works for the government. A high-level bureaucrat, you said.”